


the Flower Cart

by callmeflo



Series: if Wishes were Irises [5]
Category: Those Who Went Missing
Genre: Gen, Monthly Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 06:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16112447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeflo/pseuds/callmeflo
Summary: Harvest mice inhabit the straw mattresses left in the inn bedrooms.





	the Flower Cart

 

The village of Goldhaven has a church, an inn, a stables, and several houses. They are over a century old, foundations weak and walls no longer in one piece, coated with mosses and lichens, and half hidden behind trailing vines and tall shrubbery, but they were built strong with cobblestones and heavy clays, and so they still stand in jagged shards and leaning towers with patchy roofing. A few of the homes have been linked by deep burrows dug by busy rabbits that bound to and fro throughout the village all day, and at least three others cover a badger’s set and a den belonging to a peaceful family of foxes. The looming tower of the church no longer rings its bells, but is the perfect spot for bats to hang and birds to perch for a good viewpoint. Harvest mice inhabit the straw mattresses left in the inn bedrooms.

Despite the abundance of relatively safe, dry, warm hollows to curl up in when the weather turns nasty, the esk of Goldhaven rarely sneaks their way in past rotting wooden doors.

In the centre of the settlement, where the road opens up into the main square used for meetings and markets, is an old cart. It had obviously been abandoned after selling its last wares and not moved much since, as it is overgrown with long grasses and weeds tangling into the huge wheels. The body is made of dark wood that had begun to crumble long ago, but held in place by force of will and a little luck. The long arms on the front rest on the ground to anchor it in place, but not as much as the twisting tree that winds from the earth, spikes up through a hole in the cart’s floor, and shoots up into the light past the remains of the canvas roof that now trails down in tatters from its wooden beam. 

Flicker has had a fondness for this rickety old wagon since her oldest memories, and spends long, miserable days of relentless rainfall curled into a fluffy ball beneath it, her iris petals skewed to the side to fit. She trickles her magic into its weakening structure, not able to enliven the long dead wood but enough to give it some strength. Within the cart she has placed a few inches of soil which are now completely covered by the foliage that has grown from it: not only the odd sprout that the esk placed precisely down into it, but also the packets of seeds that were left by its owner, unnoticed in the cracks of the floor. The cart once held bundles of herbs, strings of flowers hung up to dry, and baskets of seed buds to sell, and now it is the home of living plants. Flicker thinks it’s rather poetic, and also it looks beautiful in the spring.

Before, she would stand in the barn munching lush haylage with the downpour beating on the slate roof, and not be bothered by the drizzle if she moseyed out to the grass. The esk is smaller now than they were in life, though those memories are just passing glimpses and odd muscle memories at times, and can settle quite comfortably beneath the wagon’s bulk. She is sometimes joined by the animals of her village too; a young spotted fawn left in her care for the day, a feral cat hiding from the dampness, dainty quail that snuggle into her warm fur. She welcomes them all, chattering away to them about things they have no need to understand, but they relax as the gentle tones of her voice drown out the thunder.

When the clouds dry up and leave the sky bare and blue, they emerge. It’s sometimes late evening, when the world is coloured in the rich, warm shades of dusk, and Flicker gets the chance to climb up on her wagon’s ledge, often alongside a squirrel or pair of squabbling birds, and watch the sky change from the swirling colours into deep satin blue, and see the glinting mica of stars light up and reflect off her own flecks. She points out constellations until the sky turns once more, soft hues this time of the sun rising over the distant tree tops, and the raindrops and dew on the wildflower petals dry in the subtle warmth.

In the bright daytime the wildlife come out from under cover and become busy as usual, collecting food stocks for the next miserable period or repairing the waterproof leaf trapdoors rigged over their burrows, and all enjoying the freedom to stretch their legs without water matting their fur and feathers.

When a rainbow or storm cloud heralds the next coming rainfall, the inhabitants of Goldhaven will each squeeze into their respective shelters again. Flicker’s old horse-drawn cart will be used as protection for centuries more by many generations of creatures that seek the warmth of her silky fur and kind conversation.

**Author's Note:**

> Base Score: 16 AP (Writing: 828 words)  
> +10 AP (Monthly Prompt)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +8 AP (Storyteller Bonus: 8 AP * 1)  
> Total AP per submission: 39
> 
> Base Score: 8 GP (Writing: 828 words)  
> +1 GP (Monthly Prompt)  
> +6 GP (Storyteller Bonus: 6 GP * 1)  
> Total GP per submission: 15


End file.
